


I Will Follow You Into the Dark

by CarlllGallaghrrr



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, extremely brief mention of drowning, mentions of a car accident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4837022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarlllGallaghrrr/pseuds/CarlllGallaghrrr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the machines came out, nobody really understood what they were. They had just showed up, in malls, in post offices, in doctor's offices, pharmacies, everywhere. Nobody recognized the name of the company written in small letters at the bottom of the machine. All the information that anyone had were the bright red words emblazoned on every single one.</p>
<p>THE MACHINE OF DEATH</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Follow You Into the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off of one of the short stories in the book This is How You Die by Ryan North. Basically the authors of the stories were given the idea of a "death machine" that could predict how you die. They were all allowed to do whatever they wanted with the concept. It's really entertaining if anyone is looking for something to read!
> 
> The title of the story I based this fic off of does contain spoilers, so I'll put it in the end notes. However, I do have to give credit to the author, Nathan Burgoine, because this was so greatly inspired by his story.

Mickey has no idea why, but when he sees the silver machine sitting in the corner of the food court, he feels compelled to go over. It looks like a photo booth, expect there are no pictures and advertisements on the front. It’s a plain silver box with a curtain hanging over the entrance, and all that’s inside is a small stool and a screen. He finds himself staring at the machine, wanting to pull back the curtain, step inside, and see what it tells him.

A few feet away, Ian stops walking after realizing his boyfriend is no longer with him.

“What’re you looking at, Mick?” he asks, starting to walk back towards him.

Mickey starts walking towards the machine, and Ian jogs after him, finally catching up as Mickey starts to pull back the curtain.

“Mickey, what are you doing?” Ian asks, grabbing Mickey’s arm.

“I want to see what it has to say,” Mickey says, ducking around the curtain and into the small booth.

Ian raises his eyebrows, and then he snorts and shakes his head.

“Seriously? Never thought you’d want to find out how you die,” Ian says, squeezing in with Mickey. He tries to sit on the stool next to his boyfriend, and he looks ridiculous, long legs bent so that he can fit and arms tucked against his side.

Mickey shrugs, or tries to, barely able to move in the small space. “It’s stupid, I know that. But for some reason I just need to know. Besides, doesn’t it give shitty, vague answers? It probably won’t tell me anything worth knowing anyway. Just want to see what it says.”

Next to him, Ian shakes his head again. “Whatever, man. Do what you want, but I’d rather stay ignorant, thanks.”

“No way! You have to do it too,” Mickey says. “Aren’t you a little bit curious?”

“Nope,” Ian says, popping the ‘p’. He turns and finds Mickey glaring at him, and Ian shrinks back a little. “Fine. But I don’t want to know what it says. You keep my card.”

Mickey grins and turns to the little screen, pressing the button labelled “START”.

 

When the machines came out, nobody really understood what they were. They had just showed up, in malls, in post offices, in doctor's offices, pharmacies, everywhere. Nobody recognized the name of the company written in small letters at the bottom of the machine. All the information that anyone had were the bright red words emblazoned on every single one.

THE MACHINE OF DEATH

Of course, because most people are idiots who will try every new thing no matter the cost, across the world people climbed behind the curtain and let the machine take a blood sample with a little needle hidden inside the wall. They waited 30 seconds, and a small slip of paper came out, some with full sentences, and others only featuring one simple word.

It wasn’t until the people that first used the machine started dying that everyone started to realize that somehow the machine was actually predicting death. It wasn’t always literal; in fact, most of the time it wasn’t. Someone whose slip read “water” could drown, but more often than not it was something much less simple, like slipping in a puddle and hitting their head. So Mickey figured he’d let the machine do its thing, get his slip, read it, and forget about it, because really there was no way of figuring out what it actually meant.

 

The machine whirs, and a few seconds later a window lights up, showing a needle being cleaned. It then slides out of a little hole and sits pointing straight out, waiting for Mickey to prick his finger.

Mickey looks at Ian and Ian stares back, his arms crossed.

“Well,” he says. “Go ahead.”

Mickey shrugs and presses his finger to the needle. The pain is quick, nothing Mickey’s never felt before, and as soon as Mickey pulls his finger back the needle retracts. The screen lights up, asking Mickey to enter his credit card number in order to get his results. He snorts and punches the number in, listening to the noises coming from the walls around him.

After 30 seconds exactly, a white slip of paper slides out and onto a small tray sticking out of the wall. Mickey stares at it for a second and then turns to Ian.

“Your turn,” he says, pressing the start button again.

Ian gives him a questioning look before turning back to the small window. The needle slides out and Ian repeats the same process Mickey had gone through, entering his credit card number and then watching the slip of paper fall out into the tray.

The two of them stare at the two tiny rectangles, both lying face down. Suddenly, Mickey reaches forward and grabs them, closing his eyes and shuffling the cards back and forth in his hands, mixing them up.

“I changed my mind,” he whispers. “I don’t want to know which one is mine.”

Ian nods and leans over, kissing Mickey on the temple and climbing out of the booth. Mickey reopens his eyes and looks at the two slips of paper, the dark letters standing out. He reads them once, and then a second time, before he shoves them into the back of his wallet and joines his boyfriend outside.

 ***

It is 3:00 in the morning when Mickey’s phone rings.

It is 3:05 when Mickey starts the car.

It is 3:15 when Mickey barges into the hospital waiting room and sees Fiona and Lip sitting next to each other on two plastic chairs.

“What the fuck happened?” Mickey asks, his voice cracking on the last word.

Fiona runs a hand through her hair, brushing back a few stray strands. She stands up and walks over to Mickey, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“There was a crash, a few blocks away from your house,” Fiona says quietly. “He and Mandy were on their way home. The cops told us the asshole in the other car was drunk and that he hadn’t even slowed down at the red light.” Fiona sighs and rubs a hand over her face. “He plowed right into the driver’s side of the car.”

The room seems to tilt, and Mickey turns away, rubbing at his bottom lip. He collapses into a chair and places his head in his hands, “Ian Mandy Ian Mandy Ian Mandy,” running through his head over and over and over.

Two hours later, the doctor walks into the room. Fiona and Lip sit up straighter, their bodies tensing, and Mickey lowers his hands.

The man smiles. “The girl who was in the car, Mandy Milkovich, is going to be fine. She has a broken rib and a few serious cuts, but that can all be fixed. She can be released soon.”

Mickey lets out a sigh of relief, but the feeling doesn’t last long. “And the boy?” Mickey asks. “Ian Gallagher?”

The doctor’s smile falters. “Mr. Gallagher has been in surgery for over two hours,” he says, his voice becoming softer. “He lost a lot of blood, and both of his kidneys are damaged. We had to remove one, and the other-”

He frowns. “If we don’t find a donor extremely soon, the odds of him making it are fairly slim.”

Mickey looks around, the room starting to spin again. He watches Fiona squeeze her eyes shut and press the back of her hand to her mouth. He watches Lip slump backwards in his chair, the heels of his hands coming up to press against his eyes. Mickey watches his own hands begin to shake.

He stands up.

“What kind of donor do you need?” Mickey asks. “Anybody who has healthy kidneys and all that shit?”

The doctor tilts his head. “Yes,” he says, “but they would also need to have type O negative blood.”

A memory of a small doctor’s office from years ago comes floating back. A young nurse smiles at him, looking at his blood test results.

“Well, Mr. Milkovich, it looks like your blood type is O negative. Do you know what that means?”

Mickey raises an eyebrow. “No.”

She grins. “It means you can donate to any other blood type. It’s quite rare.”

The memory fades, and Mickey stares at the doctor. He can feel his wallet resting against his leg in the pocket of his sweatpants. He can picture the two little white cards resting side by side between the brown pieces of leather, and he makes a decision.

 ***

When the doorbell rings, it takes Ian a minute to force himself off the couch and answer the door. On the other side stands Lip, a wide smile on his face and a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers.

“Mind if I come in?” he asks, and Ian snorts and turns to walk into the kitchen, leaving the front door open.

Lip shuts the door behind him and follows Ian into the kitchen, pulling out a chair and sitting at the table. Ian rifles through the fridge and pulls out two beers, placing one in front of Lip and sitting down across from him.

The two sit drinking in silence for a few minutes before Lip looks around and says, “This place is a shithole, Ian.”

Ian rolls his eyes. “Fuck off,” he mumbles. “Why are you even here, anyway?”

“To give you something,” Lip says, placing his bottle on the table.

“A headache?” Ian asks, a feeble attempt a joke, and Lip knows it.

Lip gives his brother a small smile. “A letter,” he clarifies, pulling an envelope out of his pocket. “Mickey gave it to me at the hospital. Told me to give it to you in exactly a year.”

Ian stares, watches Lip place the envelope on the table. He sees his name scrawled in Mickey’s handwriting, and tears sting his eyes.

“Thanks, Lip,” he whispers, and his brother nods.

Lip stands, clapping his hand on Ian’s shoulder as he walks by. “I’ll see you soon,” he says, and Ian listens to him walk through the living room and out of the house, pulling the door shut behind him.

Ian picks up the envelope and brings it to the couch, where he collapses back onto the pillows. With shaking hands, he pulls the letter out and starts to read.

_Ian,_

_Two slips of paper came out of that machine. I still don’t know which one was yours and which was mine, but right now I’m going to decide. The doctor says he needs a donor with healthy kidneys and O negative blood and he needs one now, and I know one asshole who’s perfectly willing._

_I need you to understand why I’m doing this. I need you to forgive me, and I need you to know that you shouldn’t blame yourself. Never thought I’d give a fuck about anyone, Ian Gallagher. I know what going through with this means for me, but if you get to live, then it’s fucking worth it._

_I never thought I’d go out in any way other than by my father’s hand. My life was utter shit before I met you. You saved me, Ian. Now I get to save you._

_Love,_

_Mickey_

Ian wipes away the hot tears streaming down his face and picks the envelope back up. Inside, he finds two small, rectangular cards.

The first reads, **_Kidney operation_**.

A small sob escapes as Ian reads the second one.

**_Old age, surrounded by loved ones_**.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I don't know a ton about medicine so if anything is completely incorrect please tell me!
> 
> Title of the story is 'Old Age, Surrounded By Loved Ones'.
> 
> charliekelllys.tumblr.com


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